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More images of her in that damn dress, her lips parted, and the sweet smell of her arousal play like a movie reel in my head. I lean back in my chair, my hands grabbing the back of my neck.
After she stormed out of my office, I drank myself into a bourbon stupor. And as much as I fought it, I brought my fingers to my nose, smelling the sweetness of her orgasm. The way she tightened around me. . . fuck, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.
I never should have laid a finger on her. But a man can only take so much. The moment I slid through the slickness of her pussy, it was over. With her subtle moans and the way her tight little cunt hugged my fingers, there was no stopping all the nasty things I wanted to do to her.
My frustration builds, and I look at the clock again. Walking over to my desk, I reach for my phone and hit the button for her desk, disconnecting when it continues to ring. “Where the hell is she?” I slam the phone down, my foot bouncing, and hit Amy’s extension.
She picks up on the first ring—like Fay should have.
“Yes, Mr. Monroe?”
“Where the hell is Miss Evans? She’s late.”
She stalls before saying, “Um. . . rumor has it you fired her.”
“What? I didn’t fire her.” Maybe I did. But it was out of frustration. “Call her and tell her to get her ass to work immediately.” I hang up.
Who the hell does she think she is? I try to concentrate on the report in front of me, but it’s useless. I toss the file down and lean back, snatching up the phone when it rings. “What?”
“Mr. Monroe, Miss Evans said she’s no longer employed here.”
That little brat. “Call her back.”
“I would, but she advised me to tell you to. . . well. . .”
“Spit it out, Amy.”
“To go fuck yourself.” I’m stunned speechless. I can’t say anyone’s ever had the balls to tell me to fuck off. Let alone twice within a short span. “Please don’t fire me. I’m just the messenger. I really need this job.”
“Jesus, I’m not going to fire you.” I hang up and grab my cell, hitting her contact. It rings three times and goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial again. Voicemail. “This is childish.”
Me: Answer your damn phone.
Fay Evans: I don’t work for you anymore.
Me: Answer it or I’ll show up at your apartment.
Fay Evans: You wouldn’t. You have an important meeting today you can’t miss.
Me: I’ll reschedule it.
Fay Evans: *laughing emoji* No you won’t.
Me: This is ridiculous. Answer.
I dial her again, my grip tightening with each ring. I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to chuck it across the room when she finally picks up.
“What do you want?”
“You—in my office—with my coffee.”
“You fired me.”
“No, I didn’t. Get in the office.”
“Are you kidding me? Maybeyou’rethe one who’s deaf? I. Don’t. Work. For—”
“I’ll double your salary. You have one hour.” I disconnect the call.
